Blooms of the Berry

THE ELF'S SONG

IWhere thronged poppies with globed shieldsOf fierce redWarrior all the harvest fieldsIs my bed.Here I tumble with the bee,Robber bee of low degreeGay with dust:Wit ye of a bracelet boldBroadly belting him with gold?It was I who bound it onWhen a-gambol on the lawn —It can never rust.IIWhere the glow-worm lights his lampThere am I;Where within the grasses dampCrickets cry.Cheer'ly, cheer'ly in the burneWhere the lins the torrents churnInto foam,Leap I on a whisp of broom, —Cheer'ly, cheer'ly through the gloom, —All aneath a round-cheeked moon,Treading on her silver shoonLightly o'er the gloam,IIIOr the cowslip on the bentLift her head,Or the glow-worm's lamp be spent,Whitely dead:'Neath lank ferns I laughing lie,'Neath the ferns full warilyHid away,Where the drowsy musk-rose blowsAnd a fussy runnel flows,Sleeping with the FaëryUnder leafy canopyAll the holyday.

THE NIXES' SONG

Vague, vague 'neath darkling waves,With emerald-curving cavesFor the arched skies,Red-walled with dark dull goldThe Nixes' city oldDeep-glimmering lies.And thro' the long green nights the spangling sparsTwinkle like milky stars.Where the wind-ripple playsOn tufts of dipping spraysSparkling we rock;With blooming fingers bareComb down our golden hairIn many a lock;While, poured o'er naked ease of cool, moist limbs,An amber glamour swims.Or in the middle nightWhen cold damp fire-flies lightPale flitting brandsDown all the woodland aisles,With swift mysterious smilesLink we white hands,And where the moonlight haunts the drowsy lakeBask in its silver wake.Come join, come join our danceWhile the warm starbeams glance,And the kind moonSpills all her flowers of lightAt the dark feet of Night,And soon, full soon,Thou'lt sleep in shadowy halls where dim and coldOur city's walled with gold.

"THE FAIRY RADE."

IAi me! why stood I on the bentWhen Summer wept o'er dying June!I saw the Fairy Folk ride faintAneath the moon.IIThe haw-trees hedged the russet leaWhere cuckoo-buds waxed rich with gold;The wealthy corn rose yellowlyEndlong the wold.IIIBetwixt the haw-trees and the mead"The Fairy Rade" came glimmering on;A creamy cavalcade did speedO'er the green lawn.IVThe night was ringing with their reins;Loud laughed they till the cricket hushed;The whistles on their coursers' manesShrill music gushed.VThe whistles tagged their horses' manesAll crystal clear; on these a windForever played, and waked the plainsBefore, behind.VIThese flute-notes and the Fairy songTook the dim holts with many a qualm,And eke their silver bridles rungA far-off psalm.VIIAll rid upon pale ouphen steedsWith flying tails, uncouthly seen;Each wore a scarf athwart his weedsOf freshest green.VIIIAnd aye a beam of silver lightFairer than moonshine danced aboon,And shook their locks – a glimmering whiteNot of the moon.IXSmall were they that the hare-bell's blueHad helmeted each tiny head;Save one damsel, who, tall as two,The Faeries led.XLong tresses floated from a tireOf diamond sparks, which cast a light,And o'er her white sark shook, in fireRippling the night.XII would have thrown me 'neath her feet,And told her all my dole and pain,There while her rein was jingling sweetO'er all the plain.XIIAlas! a black and thwarting cockCrew from the thatch with long-necked cry —The Elfin queen and her wee flockIn the night did die.

IN AN OLD GARDEN

The Autumn pines and fadesUpon the withered trees;And over there, a choked despair,You hear the moaning breeze.The violets are dead;Dead the tall hollyhocks,That hang like rags on the wind-crushed flags,And the lilies' livid stocks.The wild gourd clambers freeWhere the clematis was wont;Where nenuphars waxed thick as starsRank weeds stagnate the font.Yet in my dreams I hearA tinkling mandolin;In the dark blue light of a fragrant nightFloat in and out and in.And the dewy vine that climbsTo my lady's lattice sways,And behind the vine there come to shineTwo pleasant eyes and gaze.And now a perfume comes,A swift Favonian gust;And the shrinking grass where it doth passBows slave-like to the dust.In dreams I see her driftA mist of drapery;In her jeweled shawl divinely tall,A Dian deity.The moon broods high and fullO'er the broken Psyche cold,And there she stands her dainty handsAnd thin wrists warm with gold.But lovers now are dead,The air is stung with frosts;And naught may you find save the homeless wind,Dead violets' ghosts and ghosts.